Patient is the Night
by BluebirdWhispers
Summary: Wirt finds himself back in the Unknown, unable to find his brother or remember why he returned. (Wirtrice/LEMON) {cover comes from gommapane on tumblr}
1. Autumn

**(A/N: 18 and older only beyond this point! I never felt like Wirt or Greg had any reason to understand what the Unknown was even after leaving it and waking up in the hospital. They had all these crazy adventures, but because they were in the middle of all the craziness they didn't get that outside perspective that we did, so they couldn't see the big picture. This is me remedying that fact...sorta.**

 **Also, I don't feel like OTGW gets a lot of traffic on this site, so please review! Good or bad, I need feedback. )**

It had been spring when he'd left for the Unknown again. Yet, it was autumn when he'd arrived. Winter was on its way, he'd felt a touch of its chill on its last visit. It was a coarse and bitter thing. Wirt intended to be fully clothed upon the season's arrival. The forest might have had other plans, though.

After a day of walking his pants had snagged on some sort of bramble. Not a small tangle, either. The entire side of his pant leg was caught. Pulling away would certainly rip his clothes all the way up to his thigh. So it was left to him to stand and patiently pull the thorns out one by one.

He sang as he worked to stave off the uneasy feeling that was creeping in on him so steadily. Was it guilt? Was it shame? Or was it being back by this old forest again? Nothing seemed strikingly different about the place. Wirt had always supposed that stopping the beast had set everything right. Perhaps he was wrong, though. Perhaps the beast had only been one evil among many in this cursed place. Or maybe his last visit had rendered him traumatized. Why had he come back then? He couldn't remember. It was by choice this time, that much was for sure.

Perhaps he'd come to visit his old friends. That was the way of the Unknown, though, you never knew your purpose there. You had to search it out before you could return. He remembered that about this place...everybody was something. A butcher, a highwayman, a tavern keeper, a bluebird...All of them working towards a goal, doing a job.

His fingers worked at an entire branch that had penetrated his pant leg. "I don't know who she is or how she is or when or why she is, but as for where she is..." A birdsong sounded from close by and Wirt immediately stopped his own. "Beatrice?" No, that was silly. He couldn't remember the obstinate bluebird ever singing for him or his brother. And then he remembered that she wouldn't even be a bluebird if he did encounter her again.

A gust of wind blew straight towards him, fast and cold enough to make his eyes sting. It seemed as if the sun was going down, and he had no lantern. Something ran through the bushes behind the one that had ensnared him. There was no other living thing near him. Still, he spoke softly and haltingly, unsure of his words.

"There are two kinds of light. Hope and warning. And one kind of darkness, all doubt and mourning. And..." he trailed off, unhappy with this poem's progress. It had been a while since he'd tried his hand at poetry, and even longer since he'd tried anything but free verse.

Greg's songs, though simplistic and sometimes overly cheerful, always had displayed a surprisingly mature grasp of rhyme and rhythm. What's more, song had always come naturally to his younger brother. At first Wirt had been jealous, resentful even, but he'd eventually grown to be proud of Greg's talent. Greg's songs made any place or situation feel like part of a whimsical adventure. That's why they'd been so helpful in the Unknown the last time. That's why he'd miss them so much this time.

As if being woken from a nightmare, Wirt jerked to attention. Where was his brother? Why had he not come? Or had he come along and gotten lost? His pants had ripped after Wirt had jolted to attention so violently, but he couldn't have cared less. His brother was missing.

"GREG!" his voice rocketed through the silent trees and echoed its way into nothingness. Wirt tried again, and then again. There was no answer. He began to run. The cold autumn air whipping at his exposed right leg. He ran at such a blinding pace that had he passed his brother he wouldn't have noticed the small boy, but such was the magnitude of his panic. "Greg!" His lungs burned from the shouting and the dry air. "Jason?" he tried hopelessly.

Wirt's shoe connected with a root or a rock and he went sprawling forward. He briefly wondered what he would do if he broke a bone out here. Find Greg or find a doctor first? Instead, it was his face that made first impact. His cheek smashed into the dirt.

It took him a while to sit up again. His left cheek stung as he brushed the dirt away from it. His fingers touched something warm and wet, and he knew it was blood. It would be dishonest to say that he didn't feel a brief moment of panic at the thought of infection, but it flared and died quickly. Maybe those therapy sessions hadn't been such a waste, after all.

Wirt looked around him for something to wipe his face with. He intended to keep his cloak and hat (it had only seemed right to bring them back with him) clean, so in a decision very uncharacteristic of himself he decided to not care. He'd find his way to a pond or stream and wash there.

The boy removed his hat. Bringing it, which had seemed so poetically right before, now seemed like touting an extraneous piece of nostalgia. At least the cloak served a purpose, and it still fit him properly. It had been featured in both of his last two Halloween costumes, though his mother had made minor adjustments. He'd grown and so she'd lengthened it, he'd required a hood so she'd added one (though the fabric didn't quite match), and finally he'd wanted pockets. They weren't necessary, but he liked the idea of a cloak with pockets on the inside. The hat, however, had sat on the shelf above his bed. It was slightly too small and too silly for him continue forward with, he decided. It seemed to represent himself as a child, and there was no place for that here anymore. If he was going to find his brother he would have to act and look more serious.

Wirt stood and brushed himself off. He picked up the hat and placed it almost ceremoniously on a low hanging branch that was already bare of leaves. Something about this action hurt. He felt that that was stupid though, he'd worn this hat one night years ago while traveling through these woods. This was where it belonged.

Wirt pulled his hood over head. It felt much more adult. Much more mysterious. He liked the feeling.

* * *

After two days of walking, things began to look familiar. He'd found an old tree that Greg had named after their grandpa and had taken a nap beneath it. He'd stopped for water at a stream that he knew ran by the school house. On the second night he'd wandered into the old tavern, and was surprised to find it occupied by completely new faces, save one or two. Even the tavern keeper had gone.

"Left to help with her brother's farm," the new owner had said dismissively, though he'd later kindly offered Wirt free board for the night. "Dolly's friends were always good folk."

For a moment Wirt tried to remember who Dolly was or if he'd ever met anyone called that before realizing that the old tavern keeper must have had a name. He had just never bothered to learn it. Of course, she'd never offered it to him either.

Nobody had asked who he was this time, though he'd been prepared to call himself a pilgrim. Nobody sang except for the band. And nobody talked to him at all, which was all well and good. Wirt sat on a bench across from the fire and ordered first one, then two cups of mead.

Many of the patrons had left or gone upstairs to bed, by his third cup. Still, the band played on. Three men and a woman that brushed their instruments like lovers. They preformed like they, those three humble players, were stars on a golden stage. Nothing in the world existed to them except their music, and it was because of this that Wirt stayed long after he became numb from the wind blowing through the thin wooden walls and long after he became tired. He sat, his hood up, alone in front of the fire even after the tavern keeper left. It was the sort of weird and peaceful scene that could only play out seriously in the Unknown. For the first time Wirt felt like he sort of knew what he was doing here.

 _"_ _Along the fields of straw and stover, clocked in 'til the work day's over. Time's a gentle stream, longer than it seems..."_

Their latest song was slow and folksy. Dreamlike even, his eyes began to close, and he wondered if he should finally go to his promised bed.

" _Patient is the night..."_

Wirt felt the gust of wind before he heard anything behind him at the door. He turned (his first movement in what felt like hours) to see a young woman in the door frame. She struggled to push the door closed against the bitter wind. As she did, Wirt's thoughts turned briefly to the old sheepdog that had once lived here. Had he gone with Dolly?

 _"_ _...How I long to see her face now, her starry moonlit gaze now..."_

The woman spoke as she pulled a gray cape tighter around herself, "Are you the keeper?"

It was then that Wirt knew he was drunk. One glass of wine at Thanksgiving and Christmas had not prepared him for this. His head moved like a...what was it that Greg's dad called them? A bobber? Bobbin? The things that floated while you fished. It didn't matter. He felt dizzy. He also felt peaceful and almost happy. Almost. But mostly dizzy.

"Sir?" the woman wouldn't come near him. He could tell by the look on her face that she was nervous. "Do you work here?" He suddenly remembered that he hadn't washed. He was probably still covered in dried blood and dirt. Too late now...

"Nope," Wirt half-hiccupped. "I'm just up late," he gestured to himself with his thumbs as if she could be unsure about the subject of his last sentence.

The woman approached finally, and began to tie up her red hair. "Okay, um...well, do you know if there are any rooms left? I can pay the owner in the morning."

Wirt's hood dipped a little below his eyes as he swayed on his feet. He lost sight of the woman for a few seconds. Perhaps it was for the best. He must have looked incredibly idiotic, and if his eyes were covered maybe he could pull off looking more mysterious. Or at least sleepy...Anything was better than drunk.

"Probably. There were like...six people here before." His hands gestured wildly, but he couldn't decide what he was trying to articulate. He looked down and could see the toes of her shoes in front of him. Awfully, close for a stranger...but she wasn't saying anything. Instead she tugged at his cloak. She rubbed the blue wool between her fingertips, inspecting it.

Her voice was quiet and suspicious when she finally did speak. "Where did you get this?"

Wirt pulled away, suddenly defensive and a little nervous. "My room? It's mine!"

"No..." Her eyes widened. "Wirt?" Her head tilted to the side.

Wirt almost fell over backwards. "What?"

"It's Beatrice."

"Wha-Oh. Oh!" He thought about hugging her so happy was he to see a familiar face (so to speak), but even in his drunken state he knew that it would be weird. They weren't exactly friends. Were they? He decided that if the question was worth asking, they probably weren't. Instead he stood, cowering away from her and clutching the bench for balance.

 _"_ _...Patient is the night..."_


	2. Winter

**(Well, at least people are reading. So that's something! Thank you to all of those that are. Lemons are happening soon, I swear, if that's why you're here. If not, well, you've been warned. Once again, reviews make my day. Seriously, I don't have a lot going on.)**

Beatrice was much quieter than he remembered her being, and the silence that would have been filled by Greg remained empty most of the time. They traveled together. Beatrice had taken up the job of a messenger, and so Wirt, unsure of what else to do, followed along.

Beatrice never invited him, but she'd never asked why he'd come along either. Nor did his presence seem to her annoy her as much as it once did. Perhaps they were not friends, but walking together seemed natural. He was sure that they'd been walking for around a month, but he'd never felt the need to tally the days, and neither had she.

When they did talk it was mostly about places Greg could be. Occasionally Beatrice would scold him for not dressing warmly enough commenting on how blue his lips and fingers were. Wirt's protests that he felt fine were usually met with a sarcastic response, and the two would fight for an hour at minimum, her concern for his health turning into spats about everything and anything.

"Let me carry that," he said, reaching for the package in her arms. The wooden box was too large to carry under her cape and her fingers where nearly red from the cold.

She hugged the package tighter and pulled away from him, "No. It's for me to give. We're nearly there, anyways."

Wirt withdrew his hand. "Where?"

Beatrice hardly ever allowed him near her when she was collecting new deliveries, so he hardly ever knew their destination. Of course, even if he knew the name of where they were going, his knowledge of the Unknown was limited to the places he'd gone with Greg. So Wirt was content to follow Beatrice wherever she needed to go next. He was more of a pack mule, less of a partner.

She rolled her eyes and sped up so she was ahead of him, "This one's a personal thing, Wirt."

He was fairly sure that that meant something to do with her family, then. Which meant that they wouldn't be talking about it, and if he pressed he'd certainly be yelled at or given the silent treatment for a couple of days. He hitched the pack he was carrying further up his shoulder and pursed his lips as they crossed over an elegant, albeit unkempt, bridge.

"We're almost there," she said over her shoulder. "Wait here."

And he did, because what else could he do? He always did what he was told. Especially when it was Beatrice doing the telling. But he could always wonder about what she was doing. She couldn't yell at him for that. He tried not to, but it was impossible to not consider the possibility that they were near the tree her family had lived it all those years ago. The area looked vaguely familiar, though everything looked the same in the snow. Perhaps they'd built a cabin nearby...It seemed reasonable even though there was nothing out here. Wirt stamped his feet, a pitiful attempt to regain feeling in his toes.

Perhaps, the most frustrating part of Beatrice's line of work was that towns were few and far between here. Most people inexplicably lived with a few others in the middle of nowhere. This, of course, was why they always had work, but it also kept them out in the cold for days on end.

Maybe Beatrice's family had even used the tree they'd lived in as a part of their new house. That seemed almost poetic to him. But if they had built a cabin out here... "Then Beatrice just left me out here to freeze..." He said the words allowed, letting them puff into the air in front of him. The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed.

He thought about the warm cabin that could be under a mile away from him right now. The fire, and homemade food. The sound of another voice besides his own or Beatrice's. The chance of someone wanting to have a conversation with him again. Beatrice probably didn't want him around her family, though. Wirt understood the feeling well. Families told embarrassing stories about you and made jokes at your expense, but wasn't that part of their charm?

He was too cold to be angry, but the idea stung just a little when he considered it. Was saving herself from embarrassment worth him getting frostbite? Sure, he was too cold to be angry, but that also meant he was too cold to care. Beatrice could deal with it. He would even stand on the porch or in the barn if they had one! When was the last time he'd even seen a roof? It had been a few days at least. Maybe even a week. The cold nights and days melted together in their silent drudgery. He deserved to stand near a fire, dammit. He deserved to have some pleasant small talk. A few flakes of snow began to fall. It was decided then. Wirt set off in the direction that Beatrice had a few minutes before.

She appeared in the misty distance. A gray silhouette, head bowed. She looked to be pouring something out of a small sack into the snow. The world was quiet like it can only be in the midst of winter, and Wirt almost stopped and turned around. She was crying. The box lay next to her in the snow, its lid open like a yawn.

"Beatrice?" something took hold of him. It would be wrong to turn and go. More wrong than it would be to stay.

Her sobs stopped with a sudden inhalation. "Go. Away." She spoke quietly, but her voice rang through the dead forest like a shout.

He almost did. He usually did what he was told. Instead, Wirt took a few steps towards her. "What happened?" He took a few more. "You can tell me." The snow around her was covered in what looked like seeds and grain.

Beatrice's eyes were hard and angry, she shook her head and absentmindedly tapped her boot against the box. "Nothing happened. I'm fine."

"Not to state the obvious, but you aren't." He regretted the sarcastic tone as soon as he was done speaking. Shit.

She broke then. Threw the cloth sack into the snow and kicked the box. "She lied, okay?! Adelaide lied to me!" Wirt said nothing. He didn't understand what she was talking about. "She said my family would be turned human again, but they weren't. I tried, and they didn't change. I said I'd have my wings cut off first, and apparently the scissors only worked once so..."

Wirt looked at her. His face was numb from the cold, but he was sure his mouth was hanging open. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend...it finally occurred to him that she must have tried the scissors on somebody from her family after they'd worked for her. Then she would have killed someone from her own family. Of course, he couldn't actually ask about that, so he struggled to think of something else to say.

"Well, there has to be another way, right?" It was a poor attempt, but it filled the silence.

She sniffed and rolled her eyes. "No," she half sobbed, half shouted, "Because it didn't just not work, Wirt," she practically spat his name. He flinched. "When my wings were cut they turned into just regular old bluebirds. They couldn't talk or think like a person. They were just..." Here she began to cry again. Wirt clumsily made his way through the snow towards her, his arms out ready to catch her if she collapsed. He, himself, was relieved by the idea that perhaps she hadn't tried the scissors on anybody else after all.

He took her under his cloak and into his arms. "There could still be a way, though," he whispered. "I might know someone who could help." This was true, there was Auntie Whispers, but he'd only found her house by chance and was unsure if he could relocate it.

She let out an exasperated groan against his shoulder. "Yeah, okay. Because if there was I'd definitely be wasting my time delivering birthday cards instead of looking for a solution. I haven't seen them in over a year, Wirt. They're gone. They left me."

The last sentence triggered memories of Pottsfield, and Wirt's own horror when he had thought his brother and the bluebird had left him to be killed. It was the exact same thing he'd said, and he'd felt so small, standing in that hole all by himself, unsure of what to do next. But that didn't mean he knew how to help Beatrice now. The situations were so completely different. He had no way to empathize with her, and he had no idea what would help her now. What sort of words could the English language provide for such an occasion?

And Wirt remembered another moment from his travels before. After that dog had ripped through the old grist mill, and the woodsman was unleashing his wrath. Wirt had stupidly offered to help, to fix things. But of course he could not. He was just a kid, he felt that he still was even now.

There were no words, there was nothing he could do. So Wirt held her and whispered comforting nonsense to her until she could cry no more.

They started camp early that evening, under the ledge of a low outcrop. Beatrice told him about the time she had tried to make this area into a real cave with a cousin of hers. They had piled rocks on either side underneath the overhang, hoping to build them into walls. The project had taken them almost a week. Now they reached almost all the way to the ledge that hung out over them.

"Why did you stop?" Wirt asked, his mouth full of bread and jam.

Beatrice shrugged and took a bite of her own dinner. She made a noncommittal noise. "I dunno. I was travelling with my aunt and uncle. I think they were cutting down old trees to float down the river. I remember they told me the trees out here were some of the biggest in the forest. But we weren't going to be here long so it seemed silly to use all our time together building something we'd never see again...and I think we got scared that a bear would use it in the winter."

"Now it's just us, though," Wirt said, " No bears. Maybe if the walls were built better..." He said the last sentence wryly with this stupid, crooked smile.

Beatrice reached out her leg and kicked him slightly. "What are you trying to say about my craftsmanship? We were just kids, ya know." Her smile was strained, her eyes were still puffy, but the joke seemed basically genuine. She was still trying to recover from the afternoon.

Wirt held up his hands, "Nothing. I didn't mean anything by it. Thank you for providing tonight's shelter."

Beatrice studied the wall to her right, seriously then. "I really did think that we'd built them taller. I guess I was just smaller, though."

He nodded, his mouth too full to say anything at first. "Yeah," he swallowed, "I used to hide in this doghouse that my grandfather had in his backyard when I was a kid. It looked like a miniature person's house, shingles on the roof and shutters and yellow paint. I stayed at my grandpa's with a second cousin every summer for a week, and I'd always win hide-and-go-seek by crawling into the doghouse. But then one summer," Wirt shrugged, "I couldn't fit. I was too tall. Like way too tall. I couldn't imagine how I'd ever fit in there."

Beatrice nodded, "Yeah. I was the oldest...and watching my sibling grow up was just. Wow." The two were silent for a beat. "Speaking of siblings, Wirt...Why didn't you arrive with Greg? If you entered together, shouldn't you have entered in the same place? Are you sure he even came?"

"No. He couldn't come," Wirt said without thinking. The statement felt true and unforced, but Wirt was unsure of where the information had surfaced from. Or was he just spouting nonsense after such a long a day? " I mean, that's what I assume," he added. "I think we would have run into him or heard from somebody that had seen him by now."

Beatrice looked at him oddly. "You're probably right. The Unknown has a way of burying things in our memory...but sometimes they still come out. You just have to give them time." Once again, Wirt had no reply, so they sat and looked at each other as the wind howled outside.

"I think we should double the blankets tonight, and share," she said suddenly and stood up. She pulled her sleeping roll from her pack and then her two blankets. "It's getting too cold to not use our body heat, and I don't feel like protecting our modesty or sensibility is worth freezing over." She held up the blankets as if waiting for his go ahead.

Wirt nodded trying to fight the blush creeping up on his cheeks, "Uh, yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, "That's a good idea." He cleared his throat, "We could probably keep the fire going tonight too...since we're out of the wind and on stone."

Beatrice smiled, encouraged by his practicality. The Wirt she'd known before would have been so painfully awkward that she most likely wouldn't have even suggested the idea of sharing a bed. He had grown up while he was away in Other World. He was calmer in stressful situations, he took charge more often, and he tried to help her whenever he could. He was behaving the way her father had always said a gentleman should. She felt strangely proud of him.

It was a foreign feeling. For almost their entire relationship Beatrice's mood towards Wirt had been largely negative. It was tinted by disdain, frustration, and finally panic. Now, here they were. Finally allowed the time to just be with each other...and she had wasted it. Ever since she'd found him at the tavern she'd been just as standoffish as before. She'd ignored him, lied to him, and treated him almost like a servant. Though he did just about half of the work she had only paid him in food and blankets. When they'd actually stayed at an inn he had slept on the floor. His patience was unending, and she'd completely taken it for granted. He had grown up, but maybe she had not. Time was a strange thing in the Unknown, but it had made more since after Wirt's arrival. She finally felt as if she was moving forward.

Beatrice spread his bed roll onto the cold ground and placed her own right next to it. Next, she reached into her pack and pulled out two pairs of socks so that they could layer them on top of the ones they were already wearing. She held out the blue pair to him. Wirt took them, sat next to her, and began to slip them on.

"Thanks," he said. "For everything, I mean." He didn't look up, pink tinted his cheeks again.

There's the old Wirt, she thought. "No problem. I should be thanking you."

He met her eyes, and tilted his head questioningly, but Beatrice didn't feel as if she had to respond. Sure, he'd helped her this past month and especially this afternoon, but the bluebird rules were bullshit. No such thing existed, and she owed him no favors in return. She did what she did because she wanted to. She scooted back and pulled the thick pile of blankets over her legs and torso before laying down. Wirt followed.

She had just closed her eyes when Wirt spoke. "I miss him...wherever he is. I often wonder if our paths will cross again. We were always like two panicked doves, tied together at the ankle, pulling this way and that...but still connected." His voice had taken on an uncharacteristic softness, almost as if he were singing a lullabye with no melody.

Was this the poetry he'd confessed about so long ago? Or was he just talking? Or was it both? The last option seemed the most likely to Beatrice, so she stayed quiet for a moment in case he was going to continue. Wirt said nothing, so she groped for his hand under the covers. When her hand found his she laced her fingers around him and squeezed because she couldn't think of anything to say.

"I miss him too. We'll find him." She turned to look at him and found that he was already looking at her. "In the meantime, I'm glad we found each other." Now she could feel her own cheeks turning pink. Jeez, what a cheesy thing to say.

"Me too,"

His smile made her heart flutter. The familiar feeling of wings.


	3. Spring Pt 1

(Okay, so I went off canon last chapter. Sorry if I should have warned you all beforehand, but it just sorta happened. Also, sorry for the long hiatus. Finals, school, work, other miscellaneous responsibilities! This is where it starts to get Lemon-y. Stay away if you are not over 18! This is not for you.)

"Wirt!" Beatrice's shout came from the east. "This way!"

Wirt's tired legs were filled with strength once again, and he charged down the hill towards his friend's voice. It had been almost a day since they'd had water, and so their latest delivery had been halted in order to find some.

"I'm coming, Beatrice!" He pushed through the young pine trees and bushes in his way until he stumbled onto a rocky bank. Beatrice stood to his right a few hundred feet away. "Finally!" he exclaimed and trotted over to her.

She was kneeling on the edge of the river with her arm outstretched so that her canteen was filled from the running water. He knelt down to do the same.

Beatrice smiled. "Careful, it's still freezing." Wirt dipped his fingers into the shallows near his knees. It was indeed cold, but it felt good after his run down the bank. He looked back at her, his hand still submerged, and grinned. "Ooh, tough guy," she chuckled and Wirt joined her, pulling his hand out as it became too much for him to stand.

Across the stream two skunks emerged from the woods and waddled across the stony shore to drink. Wirt and Beatrice quietly watched the pair until, satisfied, they returned from whence they'd come.

"I think I could use a break," Beatrice said moments after their striped tails had disappeared.

This was unheard of for her. Beatrice had never opted to stop working as long as he'd been with her. The only time they'd stayed in one place for more than a day was while waiting for work.

"Really? For how long?"

The girl shrugged and screwed the cap onto her canteen. "Oh, just a day or two, but I know there's an abandoned house up the path. It's nice, and it might be nice to rest for a bit." She looked at him as if she was waiting for his permission, but this was her operation.

"If that's what you want," he'd do what he was told no matter what.

She stood up and offered her hand to help him stand. He took it. "Okay, then," she chirped and clapped her hands together. "It's decided."

He hadn't see her this excited in ages. Sure, she'd been friendlier but it was as if opening up to him about what had happened to her family had set back the clock for her in some ways. She had nightmares sometimes about cutting off her brother's wings and him bleeding to death in her hands. After waking her from one of these dreams Beatrice had confided that they'd only just returned after she'd gone nearly a year without. They'd stopped by the tree one more time to sprinkle birdseed and she had cried for nearly a day. She'd said going through it was better with him, but he often wondered if she'd be revisiting these feelings at all if it wasn't for him forcing her to tell him what had happened.

They walked until the evening before they reached the house. Beatrice had an incredible sense of direction which she often credited to her days as bluebird.

"It's just up ahead. In the clearing." She was panting for breath, neither had wanted to take a break from walking despite the fact the trip had been mostly uphill.

Wirt wiped his brow. "Good. How'd you find this place?"

Beatrice shrugged. I saw it on my way back from Adelaide's one day. I stopped in the garden to rest, and noticed nobody was home. I made a habit of staying there every time after since the garden was so nice. Nobody ever moved in. Crazy, huh?"

Wirt nodded, "Huh. Well, it's never seemed like the Unknown's real estate market was booming."

Beatrice looked at him slyly. He didn't know what that meant at all so he quickly averted his eyes and pretended to fiddle with the straps on his pack. Maybe it meant nothing.

"Ah! Here we go!"

Wirt stopped dead in his tracks. A yellow house with a steep shingled roof and shutters stood before them. "I-What?"

Beatrice turned to look at him. "What is it? Don't you like it?"

Wirt scratched his head and bit his lip. "Do you remember that story I told about my grandfather's doghouse?" She nodded slowly. "Well," Wirt said waving his hand, "this is it."

Beatrice's brow furrowed but her mouth gaped open, almost as if she was in angry disbelief. "No..."

"Yes." Without agreeing to the two simultaneously began to walk slowly up to the garden gate. Obviously the doghouse hadn't had a garden and it had been much smaller, and it hadn't had real windows, and...Well, the more Wirt thought about it maybe this wasn't the doghouse from his childhood. The house had been pretty generic, so maybe this was just a yellow house. Wouldn't that make more sense? But then again, this was the Unknown and it made sense for things to not make sense.

This train of thought was dizzying. Wirt felt like some unheard of Lewis Carroll character. He thought about saying all of this to Beatrice, but stopped because he wasn't even sure if she would know who that was. Wirt was sure that Beatrice and her family had come to the Unknown from a different time, but the how's and why's and even the when were best left unasked at the moment. He felt inquiring about such things would perhaps dredge up more pain about her family. And in general it felt as if the Unknown was best left a mystery. If he drew back the curtains too far, Wirt wasn't sure he'd like what he found.

Beatrice was looking around the garden and pulling out weeds. "There are tomatoes over here! Oh, and potatoes too!"

"That's great!" Wirt called, feigning interest. "We should look inside." This was where his true interest lay.

Beatrice dusted her hands off on her skirt. "That's right! I have hands now, I can go inside."

Wirt had his hand on the knob, but stepped aside. "Then you should do the honors, m'lady."

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. "Jeez, you're so weird."

Wirt took it as a sign of growth that her comment didn't offend him even a little bit. Her hand hovered above the knob before grasping it and twisting. Perhaps the mechanism inside was a bit rusty, because it took her a few seconds and some fiddling before she was actually able to turn it all the way. When the door finally swung inward, though, it was as if the house exhaled. A rush of dust and stale air hit them in the face. Wirt gagged. Beatrice coughed.

Strangely there were no cobwebs. Wirt had expected cobwebs. The entrance was plenty dusty though. Beatrice stepped inside and as she walked on small dark footsteps were left in her wake. Wirt followed.

"Do you have a match?" she asked over her shoulder. Wirt dug through his pants pocket and proffered one. She struck it and lit the lamp that was hanging on the wall to their left. "Ow!" She jerked her fingers back.

Wirt started towards her, "Are you okay?"

She waved him away, "Fine, fine. Spark got me."

He nodded and they continued on. To their right was a siting room and dining room, there was door that probably led to the kitchen. To their left were two bedrooms and a washroom. The real treasure was the latter, though. It came equipped with a commode and tub, though no shower. This was something that Wirt had never seen in the Unknown, but he wasn't invited into people's houses very often. He checked the sink for running water and almost burst out laughing when a stream of water (albeit rust filled water) issued forth. Beatrice seemed nonplussed. Apparently modern appliances did exist out here. Somewhere.

Wirt inspected the tub next to see if there was hot water as well. Lukewarm was probably a more apt term, but it was certainly better than the spring they'd come across that morning. The whereabouts of the water heater didn't bother him as long as he could finally bathe. When Wirt turned around Beatrice had gone. He found her in the first bedroom, sweeping. She had already lit the lanterns in here as well.

He put his pack on the floor. "Where did you find the broom?"

She shrugged and smiled, "It was just here. Will you take the quilt out and beat it a bit? It's also pretty dusty."

Wirt nodded and complied. When he returned Beatrice was dusting in the dining room. Apparently whoever had left this place had been kind or forgetful enough to leave conveniently placed cleaning supplies, but it almost seemed as if the house had never been inhabited. There were no personal effects left behind and upon further inspection everything in the kitchen was stacked neatly and seemed unused. Wirt felt as if the house had somehow been waiting for him. For them, even. The wallpaper was all robin's egg blue and heather green. Colors that reminded him of Beatrice and Greg. The house was a blend of old and new. Homey, simple, but comfortable. He felt sad that they would be moving on soon.

Over a dinner of tomato sandwiches he expressed this to Beatrice. They sat cross legged on the living room floor since they were not used to the hard wooden chairs in the dining room.

"Hmmm," her eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she thought and chewed. "I understand, but I don't think you'll feel that way after a few days here. Something about this land always makes me want to keep moving. It's part of why I decided that being a messenger was a good fit for me." Wirt nodded and bit into his own sandwich. "And I think you feel the same," she continued,"You just haven't realized it yet, because you haven't stopped moving."

Deep down Wirt wasn't sure she was right. He'd always been a homebody. But Beatrice often saw things in him that he did not, and she knew how much the Unknown changed a person. Maybe he was a homebody in Other World, but he'd been walking for nearly six months and he hadn't thought about stopping until now.

"Maybe you're right."

After dinner they'd explored the kitchen cupboards some more. There was no food, but they found a liquor cabinet under the sink. Like everything else in this place the bottles were untouched. Wirt pulled a bottle of wine out and two tea mugs. The spring nights were still cold so they gathered wood from a pile in the back of the house. After a bit of trouble they lit a fire, and pulled a rolled up rug from out of the hallway closet to stretch in front of the mantle. The pair sat side by side watching the flames and pouring themselves mugs of wine late into the night.

Wirt fell asleep first. He dreamed of a city on the clouds. There were houses, but none of the residents would come outside to greet him. He wandered the cloud streets until Bearice woke him. His eyes would not open immediately, they felt so heavy. But when they did open he was greeted by a familiar silhouette in the flames. A long figure with round eyes and long twisted branches emerging from its skull like antlers...but this time the form was less twisted. And this time it wore a long conical hat.

Wirt sprang backwards like a cat. He had been sleeping on his stomach, but his jump was so powerful that he landed hard on his backside almost halfway across the rug.

"Wirt? What is it?" Beatrice looked genuinely scared, "I'm sorry. I thought you might want to sleep in a bed."

Wirt's eyes shifted nervously back to the fireplace. The figure was gone. "I'm fine. Sorry. I was just dreaming when you woke me." She looked doubtful. "Sorry," he repeated.

"Okay, well now I really think you should get to bed. Alcohol makes you pretty jumpy, doesn't it?"

That wasn't really the case in Wirt's limited experience but he laughed, "Yeah, I guess so." He stood up and began to walk around the couch.

"Wirt?" Beatrice called as she stood up slowly. Apparently, the wine hadn't worn off for her either. "Could you- or coud I...Could we sleep together?"

He nodded without hesitating. They hadn't slept apart since that night in her makeshift cave. Her warm body was a comforting constant for him, and he wasn't sure if he could fall asleep without her.

"Um, yeah of course. But first I'm going to bathe."

Beatrice nodded and walked around the couch to join him. "Good idea," she said it with a straight face but snorted and burst out laughing immediately after.

"Okay," Wirt said as if he were talking to a child. "Let's get YOU to bed." He took her hand and walked her to the bedroom.

Beatrice immediately stripped down to her petticoats and bodice, and Wirt turned to leave. He'd seen this a million times before. Gone were the days where he would have blushed if Sara so much as took his hand. Gods, Wirt hadn't even been able to keep it together when Sara had gone down on him the first time. Or the second, or the third...and she'd been fully clothed then. But now he was a different man. He and Beatrice had seen each other naked dozens of times, but perhaps because it had never been sexual or perhaps because he now had some experience in the realm of the female body he had never felt awkward. Okay, maybe a little at the beginning, but not anymore.

Wirt grabbed a match from his cloak pocket and headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turned the knob for hot, plugged the drain, and lit the lamp on the sconce behind the tub. He thought about the figure in the fire place, and though it had been initially startling he now felt strangely calm. It must have been part of his dream. The idea of himself as the beast was a ridiculous one.

His mind turned to his own body then. The wine had made his cheeks burn hot, and his skin feel like liquid. Wirt tugged his shirt off and stood for a few seconds caressing his own arms. He felt new and old all at the same time. Like the house. Like he'd just had the dust washed off of him and was experiencing himself for the first time. He felt more sensitive to his own touch, and yet less. Whatever it felt like, it felt...good.

Wirt's hand slipped down past the waist band of his pants. He curled his fingers around the edge of pubic hair, scratching upwards just a little before moving further down. He was almost completely hard, he traced his length from base to tip and then he was there.

He tried to think of Sara, looking up at him from her knees. This was what he usually did, but instead he only saw the girl across the hall. This happened sometimes, he was a teenager after all, but tonight it felt different. Tonight he pictured her shedding her blue dress and every movement was electric. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and thought of the c-curve between her ribs and hips. He thought of her long legs and he had to lean against the wall for balance. His head lilted backwards as his hand move as if he were saying a prayer to the heavens.

Wirt took a drop of pre-cum and swirled it around the tip of his penis before taking hold of himself again. He thought of how warm his hand was, and he thought of how warm Beatrice was at night when they slept so close. He thought about how sometimes she curled her body into him, and his hand moved faster. He thought about kissing her on the knees oddly enough, and he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound.

He had never wanted her like this. He had imagined it, of course, but what he imagined was a girl that only looked like Beatrice. She was not her. But something about the Beatrice in his mind's eye tonight seemed real, she seemed tangible. Like he could go across the hall, and everything in his mind would happen.

He thought about kneeling before her instead of the other way around. Kissing her from her knees up to her thighs. Wondered if she would squeal from being tickled or moan.

He felt a tension beneath his skin and in his thighs as he thought about tasting her. He panted from the exertion of how fast he was going now. He was so close he...

The door opened then. The door was between them, but Beatrice stared at him in the mirror, her mouth and eyes wide. Wirt jumped and removed his hand, but it was Beatrice that cursed first.

"Shit!"

"Fuck!"

"What the hell are you-?!"

"What the hell am I?! What the hell are you-?!"

Beatrice walked in, pointedly looking at the ceiling, and, as if they were sharing the house and needed privacy, shut the door behind her. This was just like her. Wirt wished she was any other girl. Any other girl would have run away.

"Look I'm sorry, but you could warn a girl."

"What!" he yelped. Wirt could see his face was bright red in the mirror. " 'Oh, Beatrice. Yeah, I'm just gonna go masturbate in the bathroom now.' Maybe YOU should have knocked." He folded his arms. Indignation was a sorry source of solace from this kind of embarrassment, but he'd take it.

Surprisingly, she conceded, "Okay, yeah, but you just said you were going to take a bath and the water was running so..."

"So?"

"I was going to ask if I could come in here with you," she blurted, refusing to make eye contact. "It's weird actually being inside of here. I'm not used to it and well..." she took a deep breath, "it's a little creepy."

Wirt tilted his head and looked down, "Yeah. I can get that, but jeez, Beatrice."

Beatrice nodded as if he'd said something she could actually agree with. They stood in silence for what was probably a minute but felt like an hour. The tub was finally full, so Wirt walked over to turn off the tap.

While his back was turned Beatrice spoke up, "You miss her then?"

Wirt turned around slowly, "Miss who?"

"The girl you spoke about last time. You know..." she was wringing her hands and would not meet his gaze.

That made things easier. "Um, no and yes. We're just friends."

She looked up sadly, "I'm sorry. I thought you really liked her."

Wirt felt strange talking about this given the circumstances, but he would much rather talk about Sara than the actual subject of his fantasy. "I did, and she liked me. Things went well until she moved away. We keep in touch, but she has new friends and a new boyfriend."

Beatrice looked at him long and hard. "And you?"

He actually had to concentrate to remember. That life was so far away now. "No, I was going to wait until college but..."

"But you came back."

He nodded. "I came back, and I don't think I can return there again."

Beatrice reached across the small room for his hand. "It was a miracle when you did last time."

Wirt gave a sort of half laugh. "Yeah, that's what the doctor said." They were quiet again for a bit. "I'm going to get in the bath now," he said mostly to break the silence.

"Okay, yeah."

He turned around so that he could slip his socks and trousers off, and as he was looking through his ankles he saw a bundle of white cloth hit the floor. When he turned back around she was fully unclothed as well.

"I thought it would make you feel a little less awkward."

Wirt could only think about how wrong she was.


	4. Spring Pt 2

(A/N: Thank you for reviewing you guys! It means the world to me, and makes me excited to keep writing. More lemons ahead as my way of giving back! Also, this one's super short, but it seemed like a good place to end. There will be a part three, though...I think. Well, we'll see how things come along. Either way, we're nearing the end.)

Wirt had never slept on his side until Greg was old enough to crawl into bed with him. Once his brother could navigate the house comfortably it was almost a nightly occurrence. Greg would toddle down their hallway about halfway through the night, and Wirt would turn on his side to make room for his brother. Wirt had tried to leverage the nightly visits into a bigger bed for himself, and his mother had actually been willing. The problem was that the new bed would have taken up a lot of floor space, so Wirt committed to the habit of sleeping on his side (despite all of the studies that said that sleeping on your back was much healthier) and the habit stuck.

The visits happened less after their return from the Unknown. Greg had Jason now as well as some fairy-angel-thing that he always talked about. Wirt missed his brother though. The nightmares would come, and Wirt would curl into a tight ball. The wretched sleep coupled with his growing pains resulted in a few pain pill prescriptions for a while until Greg also began having nightmares. The fairy lady was gone from his dreams all of the sudden, but that was all he would say before drowsily crawling into Wirt's bed.

Sara had thought it was cute. Wirt's affection for his brother and vice versa were what had made Wirt stand out to her, she'd confessed. It didn't matter to Wirt. He was simply glad it had happened and glad that he still had a brother to be affectionate towards. He'd never said so aloud, but he almost certainly would not have returned to Other World without his brother if things had gone badly. He wouldn't have been able to.

Now he was here without Greg, and yes, he was a little older and maybe a little a wiser, but Wirt wasn't sure that that was why the Unknown wasn't as scary this time around. Could he have gone on without his brother if he hadn't run into Beatrice? It worried him that perhaps he was incapable of going on without a crutch of sorts. He held them out, his brother and Beatrice, like the Woodsman's lantern so that they could light his way in the darkness. They emboldened him, yet they terrified him. Or rather his reliance on them did.

"I'm going to get out now," Beatrice said wrenching him out of his thoughts. She'd been sitting between his knees in the tub with her own knees under her chin, probably also lost in thought until now.

"Oh, um, okay," Wirt was unsure what to say. Should he apologize again for the awkwardness before? Or let it be? They'd talked things through a bit, and perhaps that should be that. Beatrice was like a sister to him, right? And that's what you did with sisters, right? You let things go.

Beatrice gripped the sides of the tub and pulled herself into a crouch. Wirt quickly turned his eyes to the wallpaper and away from her slick bottom. The vision of himself on his knees in front of her from earlier came back, and he willed it away. That was not something you did to a sister. That wasn't something you should even fantasize about doing with you sister. Or your friend.

She was out of the tub now, drying herself off with one of the butter yellow towels they'd located in the hall closet. Water ran down her toned legs, in small rivulets that looked like tears that someone had wept upon her. Wirt concentrated, trying to remember that phrase for a future poem. In all likelihood he wouldn't, because he was too busy watching the drops track down her legs.

"Wirt?" He finally looked up at her face. The blush creeping up on his cheeks was inescapable.

"Yes?"

Beatrice's knuckles visibly tightened on the towel at her chest. "I hope you'll still sleep with me tonight, but I understand if you don't feel-"

She looked so scared and uncomfortable, things he had really never seen Beatrice be. It made him scared and uncomfortable, so he rushed in to cut her off, "It's fine. I'm okay. I'll be there soon."

Her face slowly cracked into a small grin. Not quite as excited as he'd hoped, but he would take it. Beatrice turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Wirt tried to muster up some shame, some embarrassment for what had transpired before, but he simply could not. They were both fine. Beatrice had handled the situation oddly, not at all like the girls her age would have done in a movie, but she'd handled it well. Perhaps, it would have been worse if she had never seen him naked before, but she had and Wirt felt that perhaps this was just another step towards them becoming something like family. Shared awkward moments could be added to the list of other things that they had experienced.

Wirt let his back slide down the tub until his chin was submerged in the tepid water. Now, all he had to do was work his way past all of these new feelings about his almost family. Probably hormonal, he figured. He hadn't gotten a chance to come since Beatrice had insisted on taking a bath with him. They'd been so intimately close then, squeezed together in the tub, and sometimes she'd even reclined backwards so that her head rested on his chest. She'd been talking about some nonsense her brother had pulled when being bathed as a child, but Wirt couldn't listen. He was too engrossed in his own thoughts of math and classical music and his stepfather's cooking. Anything to take his mind off of Beatrice and how close she was. And how naked she was.

Wirt searched for the drain plug with his toes, and wiggled it loose. He remained seated as the water went down around him, almost enjoying the cool breeze that hit his wet skin. And then he began to touch himself again. This time it was cold enough that he had to spend a few seconds just get himself hard, but once his hand warmed up it was much easier.

He would not think of Beatrice that way again pushed his thoughts to his last time with Sara. She'd come back during the spring break after she'd left. They'd agreed to not try things long distance, but it had only been about a month since she'd moved. Falling back into the swing of things took less than a day, and they'd spent that week reacquainting themselves as much as they could.

The last night before she'd left she'd come to him boldly. The poet in Wirt had wanted to take her on a romantic walk first and maybe write about the experience later, but Sara had been having none of it. His parents were at work and Greg was at a water park with Thomas Firthen's family.

She'd pushed him gently back onto his bed, and remembering this gentle act of dominance made Wirt's hand move all the faster. She'd kissed him bravely and unbuttoned her pants all at once, revealing that she wasn't wearing any panties that day.

Wirt had loved that she'd planned that. That this had been her intention all day, and that she was finally lunging for the kill so to speak. He'd loved the small bites just above his collar bone, and how she'd slipped her fingers down between her legs even when she was on top of him so that she could make herself wet.

Several times he had traced his fingers up her thigh, ready to take over for her but she'd pushed his fingers away finally whispering, "Watch me," in his ear. So he had. For all the boldness at the beginning she had still been slightly shy. Her cheeks had glowed warmly after whispering in his ear. It didn't matter. He'd been so in love with her in that moment.

Wirt was too eager to finish to imagine all of that afternoon's happenings, so he recalled what it felt like when she'd finally pushed herself down onto him. That had always done him in in the past. Slowly...Agonizingly slow. She had been so warm, bitten her lip with anticipation. Such a cute small habit that she probably wasn't even aware of. He felt his breathing become shorter as something coiled within him deep down in his core. It tightened some more and with a soft and stuttered breath he came, his hand still moving slowly along the length of himself. His head lolled back, his eyes were closed examining the way the lamp's light looked through his eyelids. The last of water drained from the tub, and he sat up.

Wirt shivered and began to weep.


	5. Summer Pt 1

(A/N: Okay. So one or two more after this. Sorry, this took so long. I was commissioned for another fic so I felt pressure to deliver, but now that that one is off to a steady pace I felt like returning to my two loves...even though Beatrice isn't really in this chapter...ANYWAYS, please forgive me. And please review!)

Wirt was too far ahead. He knew this. Beatrice would worry if she could not see him, but he was sure that they were lost and if the package was not delivered in time they would not be paid. They couldn't afford that. This was summer, the season for spontaneous day trips and weather so nice that many people had started to deliver their own letters. So Wirt pushed on, hoping against hope that he would see the old inn at the end of the path. He was approaching it from the east for the very first time, and this part of the Unknown truly was...well, unknown to him.

"Wirt?" she was calling for him, but if he could just get a few more meters ahead he was sure he'd see if they were going the right direction or not. Damn these thick and gnarled woods. The small sliver of the moon barely shone through and Wirt had graciously left Beatrice with the lantern.

"Hold on, Beatrice!" he called back. "I'm searching for the-" He had seen something out of the corner of his eye. Something animal rose up and froze his body. His muscles tensed. Manic, candy colored eyes burned through him just to his right. The figure was his height, his build. They were the same save the eyes and the cone hat that sat between two branch-like antlers. Wirt willed himself to move, but would not. "You," he whispered, "You can't be here." Wirt stared at the figure, expecting it to respond. It did not so he spoke again, "I told you before, you don't exist." He jabbed his pointer finger out at the beast version of himself.

He could hear Beatrice crashing through the undergrowth further down the hill, she'd finally caught up. He panicked. He didn't know what this meant, but he didn't want Beatrice to see it. His eyes darted from the unmoving figure to the direction where the crackle of twigs and rustle of grass came from. "Beatrice stay where you are!"

The sounds stopped. "Huh? Wirt? Where are you?" He could not see the lantern's light. That was surely a good sign.

Wirt's focus went back to the thing in front of him. "Go away," he hissed, " I keep telling you!You don't need to be here. I'm here. I'm staying!" He spread his arms out wide exhibiting himself as evidence. The thing in the woods blinked at him. Once. Twice. And it left. Turned its shadowy back and disappeared into the night.

Wirt turned his back as well, he was sweating from the nerves. She had almost caught them... He removed his blue cloak and draped it across one arm, and began to walk towards where he had heard Beatrice before. The appearance of that twisted version of himself probably signaled that they were, indeed, becoming even more lost. However, it was also possible that he had just moved far enough ahead of Beatrice that it had thought he was alone. Either way, it was time to turn around and find the main road.

"A shortcut she said," Wirt muttered under his breath as he began to scramble down a bank covered in roots and rock. Beatrice waited at the bottom, her chin lifted expectantly.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Cheese and crackers," she growled. "There goes our pay." She kicked a rock hard, and even though Wirt could see her wince, she sucked in her lip and tried not to indicate that she was in pain. He didn't say anything. He would let her have her dignity.

They slept in the stables all of the next day. Strangely, Wirt did not dream of the beast version of himself. It was the first time in a long time. Instead, he dreamed one of those dreams that distorts the past. He, Greg and Fred were together, but Beatrice was noticeably absent. They all debated on whether they should steal from Qunicy Endicott in a room that only barely resembled the tavern. There was a fireplace, but no other tenants were present. It was eerily quiet save for the storm raging outside. Tree branches scraped across the windowpanes, though there were no trees actually near to the inn. It was all very disconcerting.

Perhaps because of the disturbing nature of his dream, Wirt did not sleep for long. They had arrived at the inn just after eight in the morning, and judging by the crowd inside of the tavern it was surely about noon. Beatrice snored lightly on a pile of hay in the corner, but Wirt could not return to bed. Thoughts of the strange dream and his nightmarish encounter in the woods haunted him and would not let him rest.

So he decided to eat. The barkeep's boy was kind enough to give him two sandwiches without charge. He returned to the stable and placed one near Beatrice with a not assuring her he would return. The other one he shoved into his pack along with his canteen before setting out in the woods. Something called to him, and he was fairly sure he knew exactly what it was.

He was not afraid as he entered the edge of the forest. He felt nothing, in fact. It had been a long time since he had felt anything substantial. Of course he laughed with Beatrice and felt concern for her. He felt frustrated when people attempted to not pay them for deliveries. But he could not remember the last time an emotion had wrenched at his heart and writhed within him. He could not remember the last time he had written poetry. Instead,he made lists to remind himself of what was important. His heart felt like a very still pool where once there had been waves. He felt mechanical.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay last night." The voice came from his left, and without looking he knew he had once again found that twisted version of himself.

"But you obviously knew I would come back," Wirt snorted and swung his bag down from his shoulder and onto the ground.

The beast moved closer, making no sound. "Perhaps, or perhaps I simply know that all things lost will be revealed in time to those that submit-"

"To the soil of the earth. Yeah, yeah," Wirt waved his hand dismissively and began to dig for the sandwich in his bag. "I already know." He found it at the bottom and sighed when he noticed it had been squished inside its paper wrapping. "I don't know why you keep following me, though."

It laughed low and long. Wirt had to wonder if that was what his voice sounded like. Surely not, his voice had become lower as he'd finished high school, but it still could not possibly reach that low baritone. Whose voice was it then? If the body was his then where had the voice and spirit come from? The question had occurred to him before, but it was another thing about this place that he truly didn't want to know the answer to.

The shadowy figure stopped laughing abruptly, and Wirt sat upright. "Your problem, young seed, is that you confuse me for the beast you encountered before. I-" he said taking a step towards Wirt, "Am something else entirely." He said the last word almost like a hiss, like wind scattering autumn leaves. Wirt shivered and then composed himself once again.

"Then what are you?" He thought about adding, "Just a lot of talk," but even he wasn't brave enough to taunt the beast like that, so instead he said, "I feel like we see each other often enough to be forward with each other. Tell me what you are and what you want, and then we'll see if I can help." He took a bite of the sandwich. A little too salty, but good.

It shut its white eyes and Wirt could see it exhale, "It is not in my nature to be 'forward'. Mine is a winding path, because yours is a winding path."

"So you're just going to continue to follow me then. I can't make you leave." They were statements but he expected an answer.

"The light that leads the meek no longer holds sway over you, little seed. You are an acolyte of the flame, a testament to the wayward souls that will follow-"

Wirt huffed and began to wrap the paper around his sandwich again, "None of this is helpful. Why do you have to be so-so" he flexed his fingertips in the air as if expecting to catch something, "So opaque?" He stood and swung the bag over his shoulder. Beatrice would be awake soon. He should get going.

"Yes!" cried the low voice with an excitement he hadn't heard since that night in the clearing. "Yes! Opaque. We hold the light, little seed, but it cannot shine through us! We are acolytes of the flame!"

Wirt opened his mouth to say something but clamped it shut after a second. There was no reasoning with this thing, whatever it was. No getting any answers. He wondered if this was even a beast at all. Perhaps it was just some sort of shape shifter that molded itself to fit your worst (and most annoying) nightmares. It didn't matter. He only cared about disposing of the thing, and that was information it would not provide willingly. There was nothing left for him to do except start the walk back to Beatrice.

"Little seed!" the thing called, but Wirt did not turn around, "We will _not_ be like boats on an endless black sea! You will return to the light and there you will find where you want to be- _who_ you want to be!"

Wirt stopped. The words rang through his head like a bell's toll, something in them...No. It was simply more of the nonsense that the beast spouted to draw him in. He began to walk again.


	6. Summer Pt 2

There had been a painting of a woman standing by the sea in the living room of his old home. Underneath, on a bronze plaque it had read, "The Sailor's Wife". The painting had only captured the woman's back, and it had been a poor rendering, but Wirt was sure that in some way it had resonated with his mother and the thing had survived countless re-decorating sprees.

This was what Beatrice looked like, and now he knew the face of the woman from that painting. A hand shaded her face from the afternoon sun and the other rested on his hip. She wasn't happy to see him, because he wasn't truly coming back. Something in him had changed, not today, maybe, but the damage was done. He knew that he might not come back to her ever again.

"Where have you been?"

Wirt brushed past her and into the stable before answering, every part of him painfully aware just how much he sounded like his father when he said, "I went for a walk."

She was quiet for a moment. He knew this quiet. The silence made him nervous enough to turn around, and actually look at her. That was not something his father would have done. Beatrice's eyes were narrowed, her cheeks flushed. Her hands hung limply at her sides as if she'd been defeated, but he knew she hadn't even begun. He wanted to reach out to her simply to stop her from speaking. They didn't need this. He didn't need this. Not now.

But she spoke before he could act or redirect the conversation towards safer waters, "Why are you lying to me?"

He didn't answer her. Responses flashed through his mind, and a small part of him hated the way they sounded. These were not things that the Wirt she'd known would say. These things that were bitter on his tongue and stung like acid. They were meant to be swallowed but even just thinking them made him feel as if he were rotting from the inside out. Wirt swallowed audibly, but stayed otherwise silent.

"I know you were talking to that-that thing. I've seen you..." She looked down and folded her arms across her chest, "I've seen...it. I know we're not best friends or-or-you could have told me."

Maybe Wirt should have been shocked, maybe he would have some other time but he still just felt hollow. There was no sea inside of him to stir up. And besides, what difference did it make if she knew? Weirder things had happened out here and he couldn't think of anything he'd said to this beast version of himself that could have offended her.

It didn't seem as if Beatrice was going to say anything else, so he spoke up to break the silence. "If you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

She shook her head, some autumn orange hair falling in front of her face when she did. "I thought I was going crazy. I thought you were crazy."

Wirt gave a quick, humorless laugh, "Maybe we are." The joke didn't hold any humor behind it, but the mere attempt warmed something inside of him. He felt something familiar stir in the back of his mind, the taste of what it was like to just _be_ with her.

"I know you're afraid you're going to become it," she said softly, taking a step towards him.

His gaze was so hard it drew her own, and they finally made eye contact. "How?" He spoke the question hard and plain, because how could she know that? How could she know something that he wasn't aware of feeling himself?

She shrugged, "I just do. I hear it in your voice. You're more guarded now, but...less afraid. You think that thing is a part of you, some small part that might someday get so big that there's nothing else left." Beatrice took another step closer to him so that they were just a breath away from being nose-to-nose.

He snorted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling very normal and very awkward. She grounded him, he had just been reluctant to let her. "I'm not afraid," he said, and he cringed out how childish it had come out. "I-I mean, I don't think that's going to happen." But that was a definite lie. He was trying to stop it from happening, but hope had fled him long ago. He felt like an empty vessel, and it was race to see whether he or the beast version of himself could fill himself up again. It was his turn to fold his arms across his chest.

Beatrice gently touched his arms, but Wirt couldn't look at her. "Be something then, Wirt. You've been so quiet...apathetic...lately. That thing out there isn't you."

"You can't know that," he grumbled, but she continued on.

"That thing out there wants you, because you let it think that you don't care."

Care...care about what? Wirt's head spun and something in his mind flickered on and off again like a light. What was it about what she'd said? It seemed as if Beatrice was right, but it also seemed like what she was saying didn't make any sense. What was it that he was supposed to care more about? Something clawed through his gut, something that made him feel like a hunter, nearing his prey. Something that made him feel like he was the one being stalked. Was there something wrong with the beast? Or something wrong with this girl? How could she be so content? Then again, he didn't understand why she shouldn't be. She had made a life for herself here...Here, in the Unknown. Though it no longer seemed like such a strange and dark place and the name no longer seemed to suit it. Beatrice had traveled without him for who knew how long and she had not been afraid...and now he wasn't either. But that was wrong. That was very, very wrong. There was nothing about this place that should have seemed normal. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was suddenly afraid because he was not afraid. This was not a place where he should be comfortable.

"What am I doing?" The whisper was to himself, as if catching himself in the middle of some half thought out scheme.

Beatrice had been mid-sentence, presumably still trying to council him. He hadn't heard any of it. She froze with her mouth half open before furrowing her brow. "What?"

"What am I doing here?" Wirt could feel his eyes were wide and wild when they met her's. His sudden sense of panic seemed to disturb her. It was like he was waking up in a place where he hadn't gone to sleep. "Why did I come back?"

Beatrice's uncomfortable expression faded into one of concern. "Come back here, Wirt? You just came back from the forest and-"

He cut her off. "No, back to the Unknown. All those months ago..."

"Oh," she took a second, "Don't you remember? I thought you were looking for Greg?"

"Greg," he said the name and tasted chalky on his tongue, like a long walk on a dusty road or an old school room. "Where is Greg?"

Beatrice's blue eyes narrowed, "Wirt...you never found him. I guess-" She paused, thinking, "I guess he went home."

This also didn't make sense. It could, something inside of Wirt wanted it to make sense, wanted to placated by it...but it simply didn't. "But why didn't I go home too? Why did I stay?"

Her cold hands touched his shoulders then, "I thought you stayed for me." The touch was comforting, but the words did not seem right. They didn't seem like something Beatrice would say.

"I stayed for-" He paused. It felt right to say that out loud, though. That could be right. She had needed him. The desire for that to be correct welled up in his stomach. She had needed him. He had wanted her. That night after they'd visited her family's tree...that night in the little, yellow house...It felt good to remind himself that he'd wanted her. It almost felt like actually wanting her. "I did," he felt the words slip out between his lips and Beatrice kissed him.

And that felt almost entirely right. She kissed harder than he'd imagined, harder than he was used to, but he found himself relaxing into it. It felt like she wanted him so much...more than anything. Wirt kissed her back, cupping his hands on either side of her face, wondering why he hadn't done this sooner. She tasted floral...like she'd been eating rose petals and honey. She tasted like he imagined girls in story books tasted. But Beatrice was no Snow White or Gretel. She wasn't lost or hiding in the woods, in fact, she had been his guide. He gave her one last, slow, mouth-open kiss before moving up her jawline and the down her neck. Beatrice let out a small sigh, and he felt his pulse quicken. She was warm, she was alive, she made him feel alive.

Finally, she pushed him away. It felt like it had been hours, maybe seconds. The look on her face was coy, unashamed. Wirt flushed, but knew he should still ask. "Should we invest in a room?"

The laugh she let out was thin but genuine. "Why should we when there's a perfectly good tack room in the back?"

Wirt wasn't sure if she was serious or not, but the expression on her face, whatever it was supposed to be, didn't break. He took her hand. It was rougher than he remembered. A worker's hand, like his own. Beatrice waited for a moment, perhaps expecting him to take the lead, but Wirt had never seen the tack room. In fact, he remembered searching for one the night they had met Fred and discovering his saddle had just been placed in the next stall. It was a distinct possibility that Fred's owner had simply been lazy, because once Beatrice started pulling him down the hall it was hard to not see the door.

The room was nicer than Wirt had expected. It smelled of leather and pine. A small, frosted window let in a small sliver of light on the west end of the room. Dust floated in the air, but hardly any of the furniture actually looked unused. A small desk stood up against the opposite, and a rough-looking wool blanket was draped over the chair as if someone used this room as an office. Beatrice cleared her throat, interrupting his examination of the room and tugged him quickly inside before bolting the door shut.


End file.
